Chapter Forty: Assassination! Isn’t Your Map of Yan Far Too Short?

“Five taels of silver for my meticulously crafted Lion’s Head Board? You might as well try robbing me!”
Even when Wang Cheng uttered the words “counterfeit,” Zhou Sanpao couldn’t help but leap up in outrage on the spot.
To create this, the very first imitation he’d made since earning his credentials—his debut masterpiece—he’d spent dozens of taels of silver just acquiring old timber from those sea scavengers.
He’d then applied a painstakingly refined lacquer to the lion’s eyes, so that from certain angles, a luminous aura seemed to radiate, making it appear anything but ordinary.
And this kid wanted to haggle it down by ninety-nine percent?
Might as well cut off his foot!
Wang Cheng thought, “Come now, what’s robbery compared to how quickly you counterfeiters make money off people’s misjudgments?”
But outwardly, he corrected the misunderstanding very earnestly:
“No, you misheard. What I said was, you pay me five taels of silver.
‘Counterfeit artisan!’”
He gave extra weight to those last four words.
“You want me to pay you to dispose of a fake? Are you an appraiser from the Water Guild?”
The other man’s mind froze for a moment before he finally grasped what Wang Cheng meant.
Though it came out as a question, there was no doubt—he’d accidentally run into his nemesis and stumbled right at the outset.
He just wasn’t sure how much this appraiser had truly seen through, and whether it was worth surrendering or backing down.
Normally, when a counterfeiter’s work is exposed only after the fact, it’s called “being duped.”
The trade of forgery had its own ten taboos:
“No authentication, no teaching, no debate, no guarantee of authenticity, no credit, no returns, no regrets, no questions about provenance, no questions about cost, no underpriced sale of genuine goods.”
Poor experience, misjudgment, or a counterfeit so convincing it fooled even an expert—buying a fake at a high price was a common “tuition fee” in collecting circles.
Just like those lucky bargains, once the deal was done, the loser could only blame their luck.
To gloat when you get a bargain but fly into a rage when duped—that breaks the code.
But if you’re caught red-handed, it’s a world of pain!
It’s like gambling—if you’re not caught, you’re a card sharp; if you are, you’re a cheat. Or like the notorious neighbor—uncaught, you’re a lover, caught, you’re an adulterer…
Whether gambler, philanderer, or forger, if you run into someone ruthless, losing a limb or your livelihood isn’t unheard of.
And for “official” counterfeiters, the stakes were even higher: being exposed for lack of skill could mean disaster—possibly even death.
Seeing the man’s hesitation, Wang Cheng knew he thought he was being tricked, but still wanted to hold on to his Lion’s Head Board. Without hesitation, he pressed his advantage:
“Tung oil, lacquer, turpentine, yellow ochre, and ten thousand sea treasures’ sole-eye extract….”
This time, Zhou Sanpao instantly fished out five taels of silver from his breast, offering them up with both hands, his gaze suddenly clear and sincere:
“My friend, I was out of line just now, raised my voice. Please, I insist you accept this silver.”
He could hardly be blamed for surrendering so quickly—the list Wang Cheng just rattled off was the very formula for the lifelike lacquer he’d painstakingly concocted!
Why not just use force?
Counterfeiters are tricksters, not thugs; robbery is beneath their craft.
Besides, this youth was no ordinary figure—an appraiser from the Water Guild commanded real respect.
Trying to scam someone on their own turf, if you didn’t show yourself out gracefully, they’d likely help you out—none too gently.
If it came to blows, he’d not only lose his work, but might well lose his limbs.
“Haha, well said, well said.”

Wang Cheng’s goal achieved, he beamed as he casually accepted the silver, then had Zhang Wen, who’d been standing by, pick up the Lion’s Head Board and gather up all the other counterfeits from the stall.
The counterfeiter, Zhou Sanpao, abandoned his stall and left without a backward glance.
Zhang Wen, watching the man’s dejected retreat, asked curiously,
“Boss, isn’t this Lion’s Head Board a fake?
Why are we taking it back with us?”
Unable to contain his delight, Wang Cheng stroked the unicorn horn atop the lion’s head:
“Who told you it’s a fake?
It is a counterfeit, but not entirely—it’s a fake built from something genuine, only that forger failed to recognize its true worth.
Take it back to the Zhang Fushun and prepare an offering—I’ll show you something extraordinary.”
Zhang Wen, quick-witted and fast-learning under Wang Cheng’s tutelage, understood at once:
“You mean, he tried to pass off a fake as the real thing, but this is actually genuine?
So not only did he fail to trick us, he got duped by you in turn?”
Wang Cheng shot him a glare:
“How can you call what an appraiser does ‘tricking’? This is called market oversight, understand?
I was merciful, didn’t expose him on the spot, gave him a lesson to hone his skills—he should be grateful!”
Sure enough, just as the counterfeiter was about to leave the antiques street, he turned back to bow in thanks:
“Thank you, brother!”
Wang Cheng returned the gesture with enthusiasm, his smile radiant.
Whatever power this Lion’s Head Board might reveal after proper rites, he was certain to reap a handsome profit.
“To collect a Guardian Artifact and gratitude in one day—what a fruitful day. Excellent!”
He was about to tell Zhang Wen to head back to the Zhang Fushun and test the artifact’s powers when, after only a few steps, a man in a bamboo hat suddenly rushed out of a nearby shop, bumped awkwardly into Zhang Wen (who was carrying a pile of things), and hurried off without pausing.
“Hey!”
Zhang Wen spun around to call him back for an apology, but the man had already vanished into another alley.
Looking back, he saw Wang Cheng had picked up a piece of flawless white jade from the ground—clearly something the man had dropped.
Without using his Four Seas Coin, Wang Cheng could tell, from the expertise he’d gained at the Fenglin Studio, that this piece of jade could fetch over two hundred taels of silver.
A fortune, for both ordinary people and officials alike.
Wang Cheng had no intention of pocketing the windfall; he picked up the jade, intending to return it, but saw only a fleeting silhouette vanishing into the crowd.
“Boss, our luck’s in today.
First a lucky find, now a piece of fine jade for free. The guy’s long gone—no one will care if we keep it.”
Hearing Zhang Wen’s perfectly reasonable suggestion—just as most people would react—Wang Cheng, however, did not simply slip it into his pocket.
Instead, a sudden wariness seized him:
“I haven’t been dealing in corpses or using the Four Seas Coin for cash lately.
A single stroke of luck is fortune, but twice in one day? With my three-tael, one-coin poverty, could I really have such miraculous luck?”
His eyes flashed with inner light as he examined the jade.

But he had to admit—his skill as an appraiser still matched… only a novice’s rank.
He saw nothing unusual at all!
Feigning nonchalance, he switched to “Rare Commodity” vision, and finally spotted a sigil in the center of the jade, composed of the characters for “rain,” “gradual,” and “ear.”
[Rare Commodity: A jade pendant cursed with the “Madness for Wealth” spell by a Luban craftsman—turns fortune to misfortune.
It appears perfectly normal, but if any uninitiated official wears it to sea, once their feet leave solid ground, they’ll fall fatally ill within three days, beyond all remedy.
Even most high-ranking officials would find nothing amiss…]
A chill ran through Wang Cheng.
Just like the Taishan Anchor that had once pinned him to the King’s Ship, this was another deadly curse.
And the disguise was far subtler than the counterfeit Lion’s Head Board earlier—without the Four Seas Coin, it would show no flaw at all.
“The Luban arts are divided into earth, wood, and stone: masons, woodworkers, and stonemasons—and above them, the master machinists. This time, the black hand behind this is likely a stonemason.
If I didn’t have the Four Seas Coin and greedily kept this two-hundred-tael jade, once I fell ill at sea, no one could save me—not even my mentor.”
Whoever was behind this had even factored in his teacher’s status and taken precautions—there was no doubt who sought his life.
“Still, isn’t this map of Yan a bit too crude?
A curse for greed—just drop the object and whoever picks it up is doomed?
A test for a probationary official?”
Yet he had to admit, this method was simple, direct, and frighteningly effective.
Wang Cheng’s potential enemies were many, but only those merchant-ship heads of the gentry faction would try to assassinate “Wang Fugui,” the new face.
He had a gut feeling—the mastermind wasn’t Xie He or the other shipmasters. For some reason, the smiling face of “Hawkeye” Pu Shouying, one of the Eight Shipmasters, flashed in his mind!
The dog that bites doesn’t bark—when it strikes, it goes for the bone.
Clutching the jade, he sent Zhang Wen ahead to the ship with the Lion’s Head Board and offerings, while he pondered his next move.
“The gentry faction dare not act openly, but they’re already making covert moves. How should I handle this?”
Looking up, he saw the Baoshan Beacon Tower looming ahead.
With the year’s end near, the incense for all the local gods was burning even more brightly; the wealthy people of Yuegang held rituals daily, and even the little temple atop the beacon was wreathed in smoke.
Suddenly inspired, Wang Cheng mingled with the worshippers and entered the temple.
After offering incense, he casually tossed the jade into the donation box before the altar of the Heavenly Queen.
In his spiritual vision, it was as if ice had fallen into a boiling pot—the incense for the Heavenly Queen erupted into a blaze, instantly devouring the curse entirely.
Sizzle!
The sound of pork hitting a hot iron plate rang out.
“Ah—!”
A shrill, agonized scream followed.